Anne Bronte

Anne Bronte

Anne Brontë (17 January 1820 – 28 May 1849) was an English novelist and poet, the youngest member of the Brontë literary family.
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#child2 мин. чтения

Verses to a Child

1 O raise those eyes to me
And smile again so joyously,
And fear not, love; it was not
Nor grief that drew these tears from me;

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#they1 мин. чтения

Oh they have robbed me of the hope

Oh, they have robbed me of the
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that
My soul delights to hear

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#fluctuations2 мин. чтения

Fluctuations

What though the Sun had left my sky;
To save me from
The blessed Moon arose on high,
And shone serenely there

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#despondency2 мин. чтения

Despondency

I have gone backward in the work, The labour has not sped,
Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, Heavy and dull as lead
How can I rouse my sinking soul From such a lethargy
How can I break these iron chains, And set my spirit free...

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#the bluebell2 мин. чтения

The Bluebell

A fine and subtle spirit
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling
With more or less of power

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#domestic peace2 мин. чтения

Domestic Peace

Why should such gloomy silence reign,
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want, have entered here

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#lines2 мин. чтения

Lines Written at Thorp Green

That summer sun, whose genial
Now cheers my drooping spirit
Must cold and distant be,
And only light our northern

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#gloomily2 мин. чтения

Gloomily the Clouds

Gloomily the clouds are sailingO'er the dimly moonlit sky;
Dolefully the wind is wailing;
Not another sound is nigh;
Only I can hear it

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#retirement1 мин. чтения

Retirement

O, let me be alone a while,
No human form is nigh
And may I sing and muse aloud,
No mortal ear is by

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#the2 мин. чтения

The Captive Dove

Poor restless dove,
I pity thee;
And when I hear thy plaintive moan,
I mourn for thy captivity,

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#dreams2 мин. чтения

Dreams

While on my lonely couch I lie,
I seldom feel myself alone,
For fancy fills my dreaming eye With scenes and pleasures of its own
Then I may cherish at my breast An infant's form beloved and fair,

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#vanitas2 мин. чтения

Vanitas Vanitatum Omnia Vanitas

In all we do, and hear, and see,
Is restless Toil and Vanity
While yet the rolling earth abides,
Men come and go like ocean tides;

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